


Looking Backwards

by vulpineRaconteur



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bad Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Pining, Rivalmance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, short Isabela, tall Merrill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpineRaconteur/pseuds/vulpineRaconteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could have been the perfect romance--girl meets girl, girl flirts with girl, girl and girl bond over violence--but for Merrill and Isabela, this is not that story.  Instead, they have to live their lives and decide who they are inside the shadow of a Hawke who has no one's best interests at heart but her own.</p><p>---</p><p>This work is for Femslash Big Bang 2016.  Each chapter is based on the challenge's monthly prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting at Kirkwall's docks, and the start of something special.
> 
> Part of Femslash Big Bang 2016! February prompt: meet cute.

Kirkwall's docks were like every other marina Isabela had ever been to. Smelly, mostly. The worst smells of the sea and the worst smells of a city all met in one place, and that place was usually where people docked their boats. Most of the time, she could comfort herself knowing the stop was temporary, that she would be back on her ship soon and on the open sea. This time, though, it seemed like she was going to be in Kirkwall for a while.

Which she wasn’t happy about. Losing the Siren's Call was bad enough, but she couldn’t even replace it and hit the waves, because she was broke, of course, (though that was always a temporary condition for Isabela) and because that damn book was somewhere in this city, and she was going to get it back.

But first she had to deal with Hayder. That’s why she was even _at_ the docks this bloody early in the morning. They were supposed to meet to “talk it out”, but the coward had only left her a message. A duel, tonight, in Hightown, because that wasn’t suspicious at all, no ser. She was worried. She hated to be worried.

She skirted around the Qunari compound thinking that, best case scenario, that fool Lucky would have good news for her, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. She was lost in thought, considering her options, when she collided with someone. Taller than her (most humans and a handful of elves she'd met were) but thin as a rail. Probably not a threat, she decided quickly, no need to get defensive. When they said, in an airy voice full of anxiety, "Oh Creators, I'm so sorry!", she knew she'd made the right call.

"No harm done," she told the stranger, throwing in a smile to put her at ease. Isabela took a good look at her, noted the rustic clothes, pointed ears and (very pretty) tattooed face—a Dalish elf, then. A skinny, anxious Dalish elf in one of the least friendly parts of one of Thedas' least friendly cities. She felt concern welling up in her chest, but she beat it down. "Just keep an eye on where you're going, alright?"

"Oh, well," the young woman said, and she laughed a little, a nervous smile pulling at her lips. "I would but, that would sort of defeat the purpose."

"I'm...what?"

"You see I, well, I'm lost. I went out this morning, trying to find somewhere to watch the sunrise, you can't see it from the alienage you know, and I thought, well, there's no big walls around the docks, are there? So I figured I could find my way down here easily enough, and I did, erm, eventually, and the sunrise was very pretty, but now I'm not sure how to get back, so..." She breathed out on the last word, and Isabela was astonished she had any breath left to release. "I'm just sort of, walking backwards? Hoping things look familiar?"

"Oh, well, alright," Isabela said, a little stunned. "How is it er, working out for you?"

"Erm." The elf woman looked around, noting the bay and sailors and all the ships. "Am I still at the docks?"

Isabela huffed a small sigh, but she couldn't help the smile that shaped her lips. "You're like a little kitten, far from home."

Something flashed across the stranger's face that Isabela didn't have time to consider before she smiled. "I have been feeling that way lately, yes."

"Well Kitten, you bumped into the right woman, because not only am I _not_ going to harass you, I know how to get you home. If you don't mind having an escort?"

She blushed, and Isabela felt her heart flop over. "Oh, no, I couldn't be such a bother--"

"Nonsense!" Isabela said, hooking her arm into the woman's elbow and turning her around, leading her to the nondescript streets that would get them to the alienage fastest. "It's never a bother to be seen with a pretty girl on my arm."

The woman looked around like some other pretty girl was going to push her out of the way and take Isabela's arm, then blushed more as she said "Oh, Creators, you can’t mean me?"

"I certainly can, and I do. I'm Isabela, by the way, and I never lie about pretty girls."

"I'm, Merrill," Merrill said, "and it's very nice to erm, meet you."

Isabela eyed the long, carved tree limb Merrill was carrying, particularly the dull metal blade at its base. “Nice walking stick, Merrill.”

“Oh thank you,” Merrill said. “I made it myself. Well, I had help from Master Ilen, he’s our craftsman. The clan’s, I mean. My clan’s.”

“Is your whole clan in the city?” Isabela found that hard to imagine. She’d encountered Dalish clans and their landships before, and she couldn’t see the guard letting a whole troop of them set up in the alienage.

“No, they’re all on Sundermount. They erm, I, that is…” Merrill looked at the ground, mulling over the end of her sentence. "They thought I might prefer Kirkwall, to the mountain."

“Their loss,” Isabela said airily. They passed a stray dog eating garbage. “There’s nothing like the charms of a big city.”

Merrill’s face brightened. “It _is_ very interesting. And I’m meeting a lot of new people! Like you.”

Isabela looked up at her and winked. “Interesting’s good. I’ll take interesting. I think you’re very interesting, too. I’m very int—shit.”

They were walking up a narrow stairway with high walls on either side, and two men were standing at the top of it, blocking their way. Isabela turned and saw two more down below. She shifted instinctively to a fighting stance, ready to unsheathe her daggers. “Stay behind me, Kitten, don’t worry.”

“We just want your gold, ladies,” one of the men below said. “Don’t have to take your lives, too.”

“How generous of you,” Isabela drawled. “But if it’s all the same to you, we’ll be keeping our purses this morning.”

“Come on, miss,” the man said, taking slow steps toward her. “I’d hate to carve up a body like that.”

Out of the corner of her eye Isabela saw Merrill slipping a small knife out of her pocket. Isabela cursed. She’d never be able to defend herself with that. Isabela had been so certain that walking stick was a mage’s staff. Did the girl not know any combat magic?

“This is your last chance to walk away,” Merrill said. She was facing the men at the top of the stairs, holding her tiny knife in an awkward position for fighting. The men snickered. “I mean it!” she said. Her voice was clear, its only tremble slight enough that Isabela figured their assailants couldn’t hear it.

The one who’d spoken to Isabela said “Get ‘em, boys,” and they charged. Isabela drew her daggers and was ready to defend herself, when she felt the ground shake. There was a grinding stone noise behind her, and she turned in time to see two grown men flying through the air, screaming. They landed heavily on their companions, all of them falling to the ground. Then their bodies tensed and they all screamed in pain, their limbs twisting in grotesque contortions.

“Finish them,” Merrill whispered, and Isabela turned to her. She had her arms extended, a look of intense concentration on her face, and blood was dripping from one downturned palm. “Hurry, I can’t—”

Isabela darted to the men and cleanly sliced four throats. The corpses went slack. She looked back to Merrill, who was breathing heavily. She stumbled and Isabela caught her just in time. “Oof, that was a lot,” Merrill said. She smiled at Isabela, then concern turned her lips into a frown. “You aren’t going to tell the templars, are you?”

“And risk getting on your bad side? Not likely.” She smiled to show she meant it, and was pleased when Merrill smiled back. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, if erm, you don’t mind me leaning on you, just a bit.”

“Lean all you like. Your palm, though…”

Merrill hastily pulled a cloth from her pockets and wrapped it around her hand. She put her arm across Isabela’s shoulders and they moved on, hopping over a stair that had become dislodged and was carelessly replaced. After a few minutes of silence, Merrill spoke.

“So you don’t care that I’m erm, a blood mage?”

Isabela shrugged. “Not my business to care one way or the other, is it? It’s your life, you’re an adult. Make your own choices.”

Merrill beamed. “Good! We were getting along so well. I was worried you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

A laugh bubbled out of Isabela. Friends. Imagine that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussing morality.
> 
> For Femslash Big Bang's March prompt: Heroes vs. Villains

Merrill winced as Isabela pulled her leggings down. The leather was tight, and full of sweat mingled with blood from the gash on Merrill’s leg, but the wound wasn’t all that bad. No need to bother Anders. Merrill had been about to head home and take care of it herself, but Isabela had steered her to a bench table at the back of the Hanged Man.

It was a quiet afternoon in the bar, and there was hardly anyone there apart from the two of them. Merrill was sipping at her anesthetic of choice while Isabela patched her up. She swirled the dark rum in its glass, wishing the Hanged Man kept the sharp, piney spirits that Dalish made. What she wouldn't give for Emrien's finest right now. She scowled, remembering the look of mingled fear and hatred on his face, on everyone’s faces, that day she’d gone to get the arulin’holm. (That day she’d been _denied_ the arulin’holm.) They’d treated her like a monster, like she was surrounded by a cloud that would swallow them up if they got too close.

“Isabela,” she began.

“Mm?” Isabela had a strip of cloth hanging from her mouth as she concentrated on Merrill's leg.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

Isabela's eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to let the cloth drop. “A what?”

“A bad person?” Merrill set her drink down and looked at her hand on the table. Palm, wrist, forearm, all scarred, permanently marked by what she does.

“Kitten, I’ve known a lot of bad people in my life.” Isabela sat up and took a swig of her own drink. “I know what they look like, what they sound like, what they say and do. Trust me, you aren’t one of them.”

“You’re sweet,” Merrill said, taking over the bandaging of her leg. “But I don’t know…sometimes—” She shut herself up. She couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t let doubt edge in.

“I’ve known you for three years, Kitten, and I’ve never seen you so much as tell someone off.”

“Oh, that’s not true, I know it’s not. I tell people off all the time. I’ve told _you_ off, once or twice.” Merrill smoothed out the finished bandage. The wound would heal quickly. It was shallow, mostly skin. Still, it stung something awful. “And anyway, I’ve done much worse than tell people off. I’ve, you know, killed.”

“Only people who attacked us first,” Isabela was quick to insist. “You’re not _bad_ for defending yourself.”

“But I don’t have to do it the…the way I do it.” Merrill picked up her leggings and examined the damage. She could probably repair them herself. She’d learned how, in the past few years, without her clan. “And anyway, I’m putting people are risk, aren’t I? With my work on the eluvian? Some people certainly think so….”

Isabela shook her head and lifted Merrill’s leg by the ankle, bending and unbending her knee. “You wouldn’t do anything that would risk hurting other people, Kitten. Risking yourself, obviously, is a different story.” Her eyes flicked up to Merrill’s face and away again. “But I don’t think that makes you a bad person.”

“It makes me something,” Merrill mumbled. “Something I’m not sure if I’m proud of.”

“Well you’re a better person than me,” Isabela said, “but I don’t think that counts for much.” She winked to make it playful, but Merrill saw the steel in it.

“Oh, _Isabela,_ ” Merrill said, exasperated, playing along. “You are good, really. I’ve seen you do nice things.”

“Alright, keep your voice down.” She set Merrill’s foot flat against the bench. Held her hands on Merrill’s ankle. Took them away. “I can’t have the layabouts in the Hanged Man hearing that, now can I?”

Merrill smiled. “Right, my mistake.” She took a longer drink off her glass, blinked through the burn. “It wouldn’t do to mention that young mother in Darktown last week who needed money to get out of Kirkwall? Those girls who were getting harassed outside this very bar? Or that lad by the docks who was so wary of the Qunari? Remind me, Isabela,” and Merrill leaned forward, feeling pleasantly bold, “who showed him how to get across the docks without passing their compound?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Merrill dear,” Isabela said, acting haughty as she poured more rum for the both of them. But her shoulders, Merrill thought, had a true pride to their set.

“You look out for people, Isabela,” Merrill said softly, privately, words meant just for Isabela’s ears. She wrapped her arms around her knees. “You might not be dedicated to much, apart from yourself, but it makes you free to help anyone you like. Me, I’m always holed up in my room, working. The only people I can help are _my_ people, but you’re out here. Out in the world. You have the chance to help anyone. Everyone.” Merrill looked down at her bare knees, at a bruise she hadn’t noticed yet. “I think you’re a hero.”

They were both quiet, for a moment, the word hanging in the air between them, before Isabela spluttered, failing to contain the laugh. She threw her head back and it soared out of her, a loud, clear thing that eased something in Merrill, even if she didn’t think she’d said anything particularly funny.

“Oh Kitten,” Isabela said, “never change.”

“I always hate that,” Merrill replied. “I mean, not that I, hate, anyway. Why shouldn’t I change? If I never change, I’m not ever improving, am I?”

Isabela’s mouth twisted, like it couldn’t decide on a smile or a scowl. “But then you can’t go bad, either.” She reached forward and took Merrill’s hand. Merrill absentmindedly traced circles on her knuckles. “You are good, Merrill, really. You’re so good I don’t believe you’re real, sometimes.” She was quiet, watching their hands. “I wouldn’t risk you, is all I’m saying.”

Merrill swallowed. She stared at Isabela’s face, trying to make eye contact, trying to see her. “Isabela,” she said quietly.

Isabela leaned back, separated their hands, slapped a smile on her face. “Somebody has to balance me out, after all.” She polished off her glass and was about to refill it when a voice shot through the bar.

“Isabela.” Merrill turned her head toward the stairs at the back and felt her pulse pound. It was Hawke, Cuva Hawke, tall, straight-backed, her sharp archer’s eyes aimed at Isabela. She spoke with force, each word an arrow thudding into its target. “Varric and I are done talking.”

Merrill saw, for the smallest flash, a hard look on Isabela’s face, before it warped into her usual expression of bawdiness. She grabbed the bottle off the table, swung her legs over the bench and headed for Hawke. “Then I guess that means it’s time we start not-talking.” As she passed Hawke, Isabela slipped a finger into her belt and dragged her forward by it, toward her room in the darkness behind the Hanged Man. Merrill watched them go.

Varric came out of the hallway, a thoughtful look on his face. He spotted Merrill and smiled. “How’s the leg, Daisy?”

“Oh, not so bad, I don’t think,” she said. She folded her leggings into a tidy shape and stood from the bench, testing her weight on her leg. She’d be fine getting back to the alienage. The rum was more to blame for her wobble than the injury was. She picked up her staff and her broken armor and smiled at Varric.

“I’d better be off,” she said, gesturing with her leggings. “Patch this lot up before Hawke needs me out there again.

“Uh Daisy, are you walking all the way home alone without pants on?”

Merrill felt her lips twitch, and her smile turned real. “Would you even let me?”

Varric laughed. “Not a chance.” They walked out of the bar together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's chapter two! This is my first time posting a multi-chapter work, and since it's for the Femslash Big Bang challenge monthly prompts, well...you can expect a new chapter once a month. I hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Femslash Big Bang's April Prompt: Fake Relationship

Isabela could tell from the set of Merrill’s shoulders—tucked in, hunched forward—and the strained quality to her smile that she was not happy about the large stranger looming over her. Sitting alone at the Hanged Man was her first mistake, unless it was simply existing as a woman. Then she’d let the man start talking, because she was always so polite, wasn’t she? 

At her age, Isabela was used to people (usually men) thinking they deserved her time. They weren’t all bad, of course. She’d taken more than a few into her bed who didn’t make much of a first impression, usually when she was bored or drunk enough to feel generous. Overall, though, men who thought they could possess her, even for an hour, were best ignored, and if that didn’t work, beaten. Isabela had gotten good at that. She’d built the armor and honed the blades through years of practice. Some people hadn’t. 

It was always going to be harder for Merrill, Isabela thought, and it made her heart sink. Too kind, too pretty, too skinny, and being tall for an elf didn’t matter much when a man was three times her width. No matter how well she learned, it would always be hard. She’d always need someone to watch out for her. 

Isabela approached them from behind the stranger. He was saying “Oh, come on,” just as Merrill caught Isabela’s eyes and brightened. 

“Oh look,” Merrill said, “she's here, my—” Isabela came up next to Merrill and wrapped an arm across her chest. She kissed the space just in front of Merrill’s ear and smiled. _The girl must really be terrified_ , Isabela thought, _she's shaking like a leaf._

“There you are, lover,” Isabela said. “Thanks for waiting for me. Ready for our date?” 

“I—Yes, erm, vhenan, I’m ready.” She smiled at the strange man as she climbed off the bench. “Excuse me, it was...so nice chatting with you. Goodbye.” Isabela kept a protective arm around her waist as they walked out of the bar into the sunlight. 

Merrill was still vibrating from the encounter, and she put her own arm around Isabela. “Are you alright, Kitten?” Isabela asked. “Too many creeps in that damn bar. What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing,” Merrill said, a strange lightness to her voice. “He was being very nice, actually, but he just _kept talking_ , telling me about other Dalish women he’d met. Dull stuff. Not sure I believe half of it, either. So, _lover_.” She looked down at Isabela with a fluttery smile on her face. “Where are we going for our date?” 

Isabela scoffed. “Do you think I’m the sort of lover who takes people on dates?” 

“Maybe not, but I am, so where should we go?” 

“Sounds to me like you’re the one who should decide.” 

Merrill considered this. “There’s that bakery I like at the top of Lowtown. The one with the Orlesian cakes? That sounds like a good start.” 

“Bakery it is.” She steered them in the right direction and they set off. 

“Erm,” Merrill said, “if it’s my idea, do I have to pay?” 

“No,” Isabela laughed. “My treat.” 

The bakery had Merrill’s favorite cake in the window when they got there, a perfect white roll with a row of red berries perched on top. It wasn’t cheap, but Isabela happily put down the coin. “Anything to make my girl smile,” she said, with a wink. The cake was set in a small box and they carried it out of the store. 

“Where to now?” Isabela asked. “Back to your place?” 

Merrill made a disapproving noise, though the effect was ruined by her sly smile. “Now now, Isabela, this isn’t that sort of date.” 

“Really? I think that’s the only kind I’ve ever been on.” She cocked Merrill half a smile to make it a joke, and saw that her cheeks were red beneath her tattoos. She looked away. “Where did you have in mind, then?” 

 

It was mid-afternoon by now, and Merrill led Isabela through the Hightown market towards all the nobles’ estates. Isabela started to get nervous—she didn’t like the idea of getting hauled off to the barracks and having to face Aveline’s wrath. Then again, maybe she did. She could use a laugh. 

Merrill approached a large mansion in the Orlesian quarter, and slipped through its side gate into a narrow space between two buildings. She stopped them at a nondescript wooden door and knocked. A wrinkled old man with faint Dalish tattoos on his face answered the knock, and he smiled up at her warmly. 

“Andaran atish’an, Merrill,” he said, and she replied in kind. “What brings you up to Hightown today?” 

She slid open the box. “There’s a piece of this with your name on it if we can sit in the garden.” 

The man peered into the box. “Oh, no, not for me. I’m too old to eat that sort of thing anymore. But go on, da’len, the garden’s yours. Just don’t leave a mess.” 

“Ma serranas,” Merrill said softly, and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. He laughed and patted her on the arm. 

“Go on, then. Don’t let me keep you.” He nodded to Isabela as she passed, and she nodded back. 

They went further down the narrow lane, finally coming out at the back of the house on a lush garden that stopped Isabela’s breath. There were trellis archways covered in heavy purple clusters of blossoms, vines grasping at the stone benches, and pillowy green grass beneath them. Isabela stuck to the stone path, not wanting to crush the grass with her boots, but barefoot Merrill walked where she liked. 

She stepped lightly over to a small pond at the center of the garden, the water trickling through a fountain at one end. The two of them sat down on the pond’s edge. Isabela was still examining their surroundings. 

“How lovely,” she said. She looked over at Merrill, who had the softest, calmest smile on her face. “Quite the handy old man to have for a friend. How did you meet him?” 

“I was wandering around Hightown one day, because I was feeling, well.” She stopped, looking at the cake box. She threw on a smile and looked up at Isabela. “It’s much too early in the relationship for a conversation like _that_.” 

“Oh ho, playing coy, I see.” Isabela flipped her hair back and leaned on her hands. “Well then, we’d better keep this date moving. Serve up that cake.” 

“Oh yes, finally!” Merrill said. She took the lid off the box and stared down at the cake for a moment. Then she pressed a hand to her face and started to laugh. “Oh Creators. We’ve got no cutlery.” 

Isabela was silent, a slow smile appearing on her face. “Well, fuck.” 

Merrill laughed louder, then sighed. “Oh, what a mess. I can go ask...” She started to stand. 

“Don’t,” Isabela said, touching her arm. “We don’t need to give them more work to do. We’ll get on fine.” Merrill sat back down. The red was coming into her cheeks again. 

“We will?” 

“Absolutely.” Isabela pulled the box closer. She removed her gauntlets—no sense getting them messy—and reached into the cake box. She grabbed the cake, pulled off a chunk, and took a bite. 

She could see why it was Merrill's favorite, light and creamy and just the right amount of tartness from the jam in the swirl. She ate her whole piece and started licking the frosting off her fingers one by one. Then she noticed Merrill, and the delighted expression she was hiding behind both her hands. “That solves the problem, don’t you think?” 

“Mm-hm,” Merrill said, pinching a strawberry off the cake. “Very clever.” She bit off the berry's tip, her thin pink lips wrapping around it. A drop of juice escaped and slid down her chin, and she giggled as she wiped it off. 

“So,” Merrill said, “ _lover,_ now that we’re on our date, what do you do next?” 

“I feed you cake, of course.” Isabela nonchalantly scooped up another hunk of cake and held it delicately in her fingertips, stretching her arm out to Merrill. 

Merrill stared at Isabela’s hand, glanced between it and her face. “Mythal-enaste,” she breathed, the oath jangling through a laugh in her throat. She leaned forward and took the whole piece in her mouth. Isabela suppressed a shiver as Merrill’s lips pulled off her fingers, her tongue lapping up frosting as she went. Isabela drew half her mouth in a smile and licked her fingers clean. 

Merrill was fidgeting with her tunic, looking down at her lap. “If we were lovers,” she said carefully, “I’d hold your hand, I think.” 

Isabela shifted from sucking frosting off her pinky tip to chewing the nail. When she noticed, she stuck her hand on the ground. She looked away from Merrill, across the garden to the wall separating them from the rest of Kirkwall. “I’m not that sort of lover.” 

There was a pause. “Does she never hold your hand?” 

Isabela’s eyes shot to the side. Merrill was still looking down, though she’d dropped the pretense of examining her hem. Isabela threw her head back and looked at the early evening sky. “That’s not how Hawke and I operate.” 

“Oh.” Then, “That’s a shame.” 

“I dunno,” Isabela said, “skip all the boring stuff and get to the naked stuff. Sounds good to me.” 

The silence felt heavy now, and Isabela couldn’t figure out why fast enough. “Well, I like spending time with you, even with clothes on.” 

_That’s the problem._ A sentence that shot through Isabela’s head, a sentence she can’t explain. She turned to Merrill. “That’s all thanks to you, Kitten. Never had this much fun with my clothes on in my life. Not on land, anyway.” 

Merrill looked contemplative, a hand on her chin, eyes on the grass. After a while, she shook her head and smiled. She finally met Isabela’s gaze again. “I’m glad you think so. Do you want any more cake? We should really go, before we wear out our welcome.” 

“It’s all yours, dear.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story told to distract.
> 
> For Femslash Big Bang 2016's May prompt: fairy tales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: depression.

Merrill lay on her bed, unmoving, staring at the eluvian. Her knees were pulled up, long gangly legs between her chest and the edge of the bed. She had her wrists clamped in her thighs, periodically releasing them to let the blood flow back into her fingers. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been since she'd woken up from restless sleep, but she hadn't moved since. 

She was half-heartedly justifying staying in bed by telling herself she was working, really. She was _planning._ It had been two months since she’d tried to get the arulin’holm and Hawke had refused to give it to her. She’d considered what she would do if she didn’t get the tool from the Keeper, but hadn’t put much thought to it. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the possibility too long. There were other avenues to pursue, but the disappointment and betrayal weighed her down like a stone. 

That was where she was when Isabela walked in. She didn’t knock, just opened the front door, slammed it shut and walked into the back room. She had a dark look on her face, a boiling mix of emotions Merrill couldn’t pick apart. She spotted Merrill on the bed and, without a word, climbed onto it behind her. 

Isabela was too small to be the big spoon, really. She threw one arm over Merrill’s stomach, pressed her face in between Merrill’s shoulder blades. She tried to fold her legs in behind Merrill’s, but they were too short, so she settled for digging Merrill’s bony ass into the tops of her thighs. 

Merrill was too stunned to react. All of this—the barging in, the openly distraught expression, the touching, holding, spooning—was new, a singular event in their relationship. She wished it could make her happy, Isabela wanting to be close to her, Isabela’s body pressed into hers, but she knew better. For Isabela to tear this boundary down, though it set a thrill through Merrill’s gut, was not a good sign. 

“Isabela,” she began, not sure how to finish. 

“Tell me a story, Kitten.” 

Merrill paused. “Alright. What sort of story?” 

“I don’t care. Something far away from Kirkwall.” 

Merrill dug through her memories, trying to recall the stories Hahren Paivel told. It wasn’t easy with the distracting weight of Isabela’s arm on her waist. 

“How about a love story?” 

Isabela shifted. “Does it have a happy ending?” 

Merrill chewed on her lips. Dalish stories didn’t have happy endings. “Of course.” 

“Then yes.” 

“Good.” She paused, deciding how to start. “Long ago, in the days of Arlathan, there was a young woman who had fallen in love.” 

(Hahren Paivel had such a way with words. He always painted a picture in their little minds, creating worlds from nothing but his voice. Merrill couldn’t do that, she knew, but she could tell the story anyway.) 

“This young woman didn’t think much of herself. She wasn’t pretty, or talented, or very remarkable at all. And the—the woman she’d fallen for was everything she wasn’t: beautiful, strong, clever, and everybody loved her. But she never noticed the young woman at all, and it made the young woman sad. So she decided to ask the Creators for help. 

“First she spoke to Sylaise—” 

“Which one’s that?” Isabela asked. 

“Oh. She’s the hearth-keeper. She guards the home and protects us from outsiders. So Sylaise told the young woman to make herself into someone her beloved would notice and fall for. So the young woman went back to her home and, tidied up I guess. Swept the hearth, painted the walls, put flowers in the window. She cleaned out her garden, did all the chores she’d been putting off. She fixed the holes in her roof.” 

(That was always Merrill’s favorite part of the story. A house that stayed in one place, with a hearth and a garden and a roof that needed fixing. What a marvelous thing.) 

“Then she learned how to cook delicious things, like—well, Hahren Paivel always had us shout out our favorite foods at this point in the story.” 

“Fish pie,” Isabela said. “Lamb stew with those little dried fruits. Spiced wine.” 

“Right, of course,” Merrill said, wishing she could see Isabela’s face. Her voice betrayed nothing about her mood. “She learned how to make the best fish pie and spiced wine and lamb stew with the little fruits of anyone in the village. And once she’d done all that she opened her windows wide and waited for the other young woman to come by and see her pretty house and smell her tasty food and then, fall in love with her.” 

Merrill looked around her room. She wasn’t as neat as she liked to be these days, but the dishes were clean and her clothes were all folded and put away. It was time to sweep, she thought, and the shelves needed dusting, but she was doing her best. Her place was nice. “But,” she said, “of course, the other young woman still took no notice of her. 

“So she went to Andruil. Goddess of the hunt. Andruil told her of a dirty great bear that was stalking the woods around the village, and said that if she hunted it down and brought its pelt to the village elders, the young woman would be so impressed she’d fall in love at once.” 

“Hang on,” Isabela said. “This is getting confusing. What were their names?” 

“Erm,” Merril said, “I don’t remember, actually. Erm…” 

“Hm...” Isabela murmured. “Let’s call the hero girl…Betty, and the other one can be…Princess Nightstand. No, wait, that’s awful, Princess…Candle?” 

“Princess Candle is good,” Merrill said, watching the tiny flame on her beside table flicker. “She wasn’t a princess, though. Elves don't have princesses.” 

Isabela was quiet. “Dalish don’t have princesses?” 

“No. Why?” 

Isabela sighed and pulled herself closer to Merrill. “Pretty girls can make a person believe the stupidest things sometimes. But anyway, the story’s better if she’s a princess. Why is it so hard for Betty to get with her if she’s just some other girl?” 

“Because Betty, she...she’s not someone who can just go up to a person out of the blue and tell them she fancies them. For goodness’ sake, it was easier for her to ask the _gods_ about it than the girl herself.” 

“So the story hangs on the fact that she's a wimp?” 

Merrill felt her cheeks go hot but she refused to take the bait. “Yes, may I continue telling it please?” 

“Oh, be my guest.” 

“So Andruil told Betty to hunt the bear so that Princess Candle would fall in love with her. 

“And Betty wasn’t much of a hunter, of course, so she had to learn how. She trained under the best hunters in the village for three weeks. First with the archery master, then with the trapping master, then with the poisons master. With her new skills, she soon killed the bear and brought it to the elders. They praised her skill and courage, and threw a big party in her honor. But still Princess Candle ignored her.” 

“After all that?” Isabela asked, indignant. “She ignored the girl who _killed_ a giant bear _all by herself?_ ” 

Merrill shrugged. “Maybe Princess Candle liked someone else, or she didn’t like other girls at all or...there could be so many reasons.” 

“She killed a _giant bear_ , Merrill. Betty didn’t give up, right?” 

“No, of course not. This is a story, after all. She went to Mythal. 

“Mythal isn’t used to people asking for love advice. It’s not her area, you know, but when Betty told her the whole story, she got very thoughtful.” 

(In her mind’s eye, Merrill saw Mythal as she always saw her when Hahren Paivel told the story. Five hundred feet tall, masked, seated on a throne carved into a mountainside. A hand to her chin, considering the young woman’s plight.) 

“Mythal told her to go to a lake nearby the village where her people often swam and caught fish. She said if Betty went there, she would find Princess Candle and would have the courage to make her feelings known. Betty thanked Mythal, and headed straight for the lake. 

“The weather got worse and worse as she got closer. By the time she got there, the sky was black with a violent storm. Thunder, lightning, the whole lot. She looked along the shoreline, trying to find Princess Candle, but she didn’t see her. Then, she looked out on the water, and saw a small boat being tossed about by the storm. She saw that Princess Candle was on the boat.” 

Merrill felt Isabela’s arm tighten its grip on her stomach. She heard Isabela mutter “shit” behind her back. Merrill put her hand on Isabela’s, lightly, lightly, holding it. 

“Betty was a good swimmer, so she dove into the lake and tried to reach Princess Candle. She fought the waves, and by the time she reached the boat she was already exhausted.” 

(Merrill remembered the first time she heard this story, only a small thing of seven, remembered holding her breath as the hero tried to reach her beloved, who of course was a young man in that version. Merrill remembered her joy when the hero finally held him in her arms and, fearing for her life, found the courage to confess her feelings, and he told her he loved her too, always had, had been too shy to say anything, was only out in this storm to prove himself to her. Merrill remembered the way her heart fell to the ground when, as the lovers embraced, the boat sank, and they drowned.) 

“When she reached the boat, Betty climbed on and helped Princess Candle keep it steady. Together, they rowed it back to shore, even though they were both so tired. When they were safe, they collapsed in the sand beside each other. Betty looked at Princess Candle and told her how she felt, that she had loved her for years. Princess Candle told Betty she’d loved her for years, too, that she thought Betty was kind and beautiful and funny, and that she only wanted to show she was good enough for her. That was why she’d gone out in the storm, she said, but she felt stupid now because it had gone so badly.” 

Merrill shifted onto her back and left Isabela’s hand to rest on her stomach. She looked at Isabela, whose face was half-obscured by her hair, her one visible eye red but dry. “Betty told her that was silly, that she didn’t need to prove anything, that she was already so wonderful.” 

Isabela smirked. “But that’s what Betty had been doing.” 

“And what a fool she thought she was when she realized it. So they kissed and went home and spent the rest of their very long lives together.” 

Isabela rolled onto her stomach, taking back her errant arm to lean her chin on both her hands. Still, she settled into place with her thigh still pressed to Merrill’s hip. Merrill’s fingertips tingled, and her mouth felt dry. This was so easy for Isabela, this intimacy, this touching, because it meant so little to her. Even if they weren’t just touching, even if they were—Merrill couldn’t imagine that not meaning anything. And yet...there was something about the way Isabela was holding herself, a tension below her nonchalance. Merrill could feel Isabela’s pulse in the space between them, like her heartbeat was shaking the air. Did Merrill dare hope? 

“What a cute story about a couple of idiots,” Isabela said. “They should have just talked to each other and gotten straight to the sex.” 

Merrill laughed. “Well it wouldn’t be much of a story if they did that.” 

“Not true, Kitten. All my favorite stories get straight to the sex. I’m the main character of most of them.” 

Merrill’s heart clattered in her chest in anticipation of her next question. “Is that really the best way to start a relationship, though? Just sex?” 

Isabela scoffed. “What other ways are there?” 

Merrill shrugged, an awkward thing when laying down in bed. “Being friends first?” Isabela laughed, and Merrill giggled a little too as she said “What? People do it.” 

“Some people, I’m sure,” Isabela said, tracing a finger on the bedspread. “But I’m not one of them.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she flopped back down on the bed, landing so heavily Merrill bounced up. “Give me another story, Kitten. One with more action this time.” 

Merrill smiled over at her, their faces inches apart. “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra shout out to my fabulous beta SimplySadie, who has been with me for every chapter so far but only got an AO3 account last week! THANKS SADIE


	5. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theme: N/A (Decided the theme didn't fit the plot, so I made it freeform.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: abusive language, a really shitty relationship, somebody being mean to Isabela and Merrill.

Merrill was laughing. Isabela loved when she laughed. It was late afternoon, and they were in Isabela’s room, talking. Isabela didn’t keep much in her room: a bed, a side table, a few trinkets and knick-knacks on a pair of small shelves. There wasn't even a table and chair for eating at, so Merrill sat on the floor with the lunch she had brought, and Isabela ate hers on her bed. They talked while they ate, Isabela relating some raunchy tale, or else smiling quietly while Merrill gabbled on and on about something that went over Isabela’s head. It didn’t matter. She just liked listening to Merrill talk.

It was a nice scene. All of Kirkwall stripped away, no one in the world but Isabela and Merrill. It couldn’t last.

With hardly a rap of knuckles on the door, Cuva Hawke entered the room. She had her usual default expression of disgust in place, but it warped to surprise, and then a cruel humor, when she saw Merrill on the floor.

“Merrill? It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are you these days?”

Merrill self-consciously smoothed the skirt of her tunic. “Well enough.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved to hear it.” She was standing with her hands behind her back, a soldier’s stance, a reflexive holdover from her time in the army. That military attitude had its perks in bed, Isabela thought, but it didn’t make her much fun. And it was no good for Merrill at all. “Been keeping Isabela out of trouble? Or maybe it should be the other way around.” She let out a curt huff of laughter at that. “Not likely.”

“We’ve just been here,” Merrill said, “just having lunch and talking.”

“Talking?” Hawke said, even more amused. “Alone in Isabela’s room and you’re just talking? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well maybe all it takes is someone who actually has something nice or interesting to say.”

Isabela forced a laugh, kept it casual, but a gleam of anger still appeared in Hawke’s eyes.

Isabela didn’t like this, this collision of worlds. Hawke so rarely asked Merrill to come along when she was running around and cleaning up Kirkwall. Isabela wasn’t sure they’d even seen each other since they went to Sundermount, three months ago. That was for the best, as far as Isabela was concerned. She liked them both a great deal. When she was with Hawke, she felt like she— And Merrill made her feel like— She liked them. But they hated each other.

“Unless we’ve finally found the line Isabela won’t cross?” Hawke suggested. “Maybe she just doesn’t like the taste of elf—”

“No,” Isabela said languidly, “that’s not it.” She stretched out on her bed, twisting her wrists and cracking her knuckles. Hawke was sufficiently distracted, but Merrill’s eyes were fixed on Hawke’s face, rage blooming on her cheeks. “Merrill’s standards are much too high for the likes of me to slip through. Not like you, Hawke. You seem to rather enjoy finding your lays the gutter. People like me have more in common with you.”

Hawke let out a short, sharp laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’ve only got my attention because of what a disaster you are. Like watching cart roll down a hill into a wall.”

“Is that so?” Isabela said, unfazed, unsurprised. “You aren’t attempting to save me, like your Sebastian always tries to do?”

Hawke’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “ _Don't_ say his name. It sounds obscene coming out of your whore mouth.”

“Don’t you dare speak to Isabela like that!” Merrill said, rising from the floor, her hands balled into fists. Isabela stared at her, stunned that so typical a conversation with Hawke would send her into a rage. And Isabela had been doing such a good job defusing the situation.

Hawke rounded on her, mouth in a snarl, returning her barely-calmed rampage to its original target. “I’ll speak to her however I like! Who the fuck’s going to stop me? A scrawny little shit like you? Or are you going to use blood magic and _make me_ shut up?”

“You’re nothing but a bully!” Merrill shrieked. “You don’t _care_ about anyone, you only care about yourself and what _you_ want. You’re a cruel, selfish—”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Hawke snapped.

Merrill crossed her arms over her chest. “I was here first. Maybe you’re the one who should go.”

“Isabela, get your _pet_ out of here.”

“How dare you, what makes you think you have the right—”

“ _Now,_ Isabela.”

Isabela sprang off the bed, stomping her boots to the floor. She brushed past both of them and out of the room. As she rounded the corner of the hallway, she spotted Varric peeking out of his suite. Ever-familiar shame washed over her, but as usual, she pushed it away.

“What’s going on, Rivaini?” He had that soft voice going, the one you’d never hear in the barroom, the one that made Isabela feel the only person in the world who mattered. She pushed that feeling away, too.

The shouting was definitely audible from down the hall, and it definitely hadn’t stopped. Varric glanced away from her and toward the room, so Isabela found it easy to look away from him, too. “Not any of my business, now. I’ve left the room.” She passed the point of stopping and headed down the stairs.

“The hell you leave behind in there?” he muttered, before he realized she wasn’t staying. He called after “Hey, you alright?”, but she just kept walking. Of course she was alright. As long as she could keep walking, Isabela as always alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dusts off this fic to fill it with evil]  
> Summer kinda kicked my ass productivity-wise, and honestly, this was a super, super hard chapter to write. :/ Now you know why Cuva hasn't made many appearances so far. BUT we're back in business, and July, August and September's chapters should follow swiftly.  
> And like...sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Watch this space for more chapters in the coming year that follow this particular time Merrill and Isabela fell in love.


End file.
